Fighting the Good Fight
by Scientist In Training
Summary: Mokuba has to make the difficult decision to send his brother to an inpatient psychiatric facility to face his inner demons.


**Author's Notes:** Not related at all to my other project _I Don't Like Who I Was Then._ This one kind of came out of the blue, I was struck with a bunch of inspiration and wanted to get it all out.

Coping with mental illness has been a huge part of my life for some time, as it affects myself and a handful of people that I love. I know Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction from a nobody is probably not a major source of strength for most people. But if you're reading this and struggle with mental illness: hang in there. I want to believe that recovery is possible, not just for Kaiba, but for you, too.

Feedback, comments, PMs and anything else are always welcome :) I'm tangled-upinlights on Tumblr if you would rather reach me there! Feel free to leave me a message.

* * *

Mokuba couldn't pinpoint exactly what caused it, but he knew it when he saw it, Seto was getting bad again. First he noticed that his brother wasn't eating. Each night, dinner was prepared for the boys by a cook before Seto came home from work, and in the morning, his plate was always left on the countertop, untouched. Then he started to notice Seto was wearing the same work clothes, day after day; his light blue shirt was getting wrinkled, and looser as he appeared to lose the little extra weight he usually carried. His tie was beginning to look loose and crumpled, until one day the tie disappeared. Dark circles appeared and then darkened under Seto's eyes, and his face, already strikingly angular, began to look paler and gaunter, as if he weren't sleeping at all.

Mokuba was afraid to ask, or to investigate deeper, because he'd never seen his brother this way before. He could handle dismissive, work-crazed, impersonal Seto, and was more than used to cold, critical, vitriolic Seto, even rabid, obsessive Seto and violent, bloodthirsty Seto were things that Mokuba had seen before. Mokuba couldn't quite pinpoint what was happening now. He wasn't watching his brother implode, or break apart into tiny fragments, but somehow, inexplicably, each time he saw Seto, it seemed as if he were a little less than the last time. Until one day, Mokuba realized that he hadn't seen Seto at all, not all day—or was it longer than that? He had been trying so hard to avoid his brother, to avoid having to confront whatever slow, painful destruction Seto was experiencing, that he wasn't sure he remembered the last time he saw his brother.

Mokuba slumped into the couch, the number for Seto's office already punched into his phone. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but he was suddenly terrified. He could feel his pulse in his ears and throat, and everything felt cold.

 _Ring..._

…. _ring..._

"Seto Kaiba's office, this is Kimmy," a polished, familiar voice answered.

"K-Kimmy, it's Mokuba."

The voice on the other end of the line softened. "Mokuba, hi. Is everything all right?"

Mokuba felt the room spin suddenly, and turn what felt like fifteen degrees colder. "Wh-what?"

"Your brother hasn't been at work in two weeks. Nobody can get a hold of him, not even Roland. We thought you might be on vacation."

Mokuba's breathing quickened. The air felt somehow both cold and unbearably heavy. Terrified, he felt himself hang up the phone without saying goodbye.

* * *

As they always were, the polished double-doors to Seto's bedroom were closed. Mokuba approached, heart pounding in his throat, and knocked lightly, waiting. A tiny part of him held out hope that his brother would open the door, neatly showered and dressed in his work clothes, and announce to Mokuba that he had been working on a revolutionary new technology, and he couldn't be bothered, and please let him work. But nobody answered the door.

Cautiously, Mokuba tiptoed into his brother's bedroom. Light streamed in from the windows, giving the place a cheery glow; the windows were open, bringing in a chilly Autumn breeze, and for a moment, Mokuba was able to relax. His warm feelings were short-lived, however, as his eyes travelled to the potted plants Seto kept in his bedroom. Their leaves were translucent and amber in the sunlight, as if they hadn't been watered in too long. Then Mokuba's eyes drifted to the bed.

The fitted sheet was crumpled and lay on the floor, and the rest of the blankets were piled at the center of the bed. Mokuba crept closer to the bed, his heart pounding with dread. He wasn't sure what he expected to find—his mind, clouded with fear and darkness, wouldn't even allow him to imagine the worst.

Seto Kaiba was in the fetal position on his bed, clutching the heap of blankets close to his chest. He seemed totally unaware of Mokuba's presence in the room, and his eyes were open, blue and pale and glassy, staring at nothing.

Filled with dread, Mokuba reached out and prodded his brother. He was relieved to discover that his brother's arm was warm, and that his shoulder twitched in response to his touch, but otherwise, Seto gave no indication that he knew Mokuba was there. Mokuba waited a moment before shaking his brother's arm, a little bit more firmly, a little bit more desperately.

Seto gave a soft, high-pitched noise that sounded pitifully like a whimper before falling silent and comatose again. An uncomfortable mix of terror, pity, and revulsion coursed through Mokuba, and he bolted from Seto's bedroom, slamming the door behind him, struggling to catch his breath.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

Mokuba couldn't recall dialing 9-1-1. He also couldn't recall how he'd made it to the kitchen, he couldn't remember pulling out a chair and sitting down, he couldn't even remember who was on the other end of the line-

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" the voice prompted again. Whoever it was on the other end of the line was clearly used to the unexpected, there was absolutely no inflection in the person's voice to indicate confusion or distress at the silence on Mokuba's end.

"M-my brother..." Mokuba said faintly, feeling the room lurch and spin. He had never fainted before, but suddenly, with the same creeping, knowing horror of someone who is about to vomit, he felt that fainting was quite within the realm of possibility.

"Sir? Stay with me, sir. Your brother?"

"H-he's in bed. He won't get up."

"Can you tell me more, sir? Do you think that your brother experiencing a medical emergency."

"N—no, I think he's okay. I just...I..."

The voice softened almost imperceptibly. "Do you think that your brother is a danger to himself or others?"

The words flung out of Mokuba like pressurized air from a can; he had to say them before he could process what he was saying, or he would never have been able to get the words out. "I think my big brother wants to die."

"Sir, we can send an ambulance to bring your brother in for evaluation. I have your coordinates. Someone will be with you as soon as possible.

Have a good day, sir. Stay safe. Your brother is going to be getting the help that he needs."

* * *

Watching the emergency responders arrive, directing them upstairs to Seto's bedroom, watching the EMTs lift his brother onto a raised stretcher like a limp, unkempt rag doll, it all felt unreal. Mokuba sat on a bench outside the hallway, arms clasped tightly across his chest, shaking. The EMTs wheeled out Seto, who was strapped down to the stretcher, eyes still wide and lost and vacant, and one of them looked at Mokuba. He had dark, heavy eyebrows and a kind, rounded face.

"We're taking your brother to the Domino Valley Behavioral Health Inpatient Facility."

Mokuba nodded morosely, unable to make more than a split-second's worth of eye contact. The man looked at him gently, with eyes full of sympathy. "They have visiting hours—here, wait." The man stopped, pulled a miniature notepad out of his pocket, and scribbled something down, which he handed to Mokuba. "They have visiting hours, every day from six-thirty to eight. You're brother's going to be safe, okay? You take care, little man." And with that, the EMTs hoisted the stretcher carrying his brother down the stairs, and they were gone, leaving Mokuba alone.

* * *

The visiting room for Domino Valley Behavioral Health Inpatient Facility Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit was drafty and flickering with fluorescent light and lined with cheap vinyl couches for patients and visitors. Feeling more like a spectator than an actual participant in the scene he was witnessing, Mokuba watched as families hugged, partners tearily kissed and held hands, and friends talked in soft, soothing voices.

Mokuba hugged his knees to his chest. He had been waiting on this vinyl couch for what felt like hours while a worker went to check on his brother. Most of the other patients, Mokuba had observed, had been waiting in the visiting room for their loved ones to arrive. So Seto must not have wanted to see Mokuba, or hadn't trusted that he would come to visit. A dull, throbbing pain tore through Mokuba's heart.

"Mokuba?" an unfamiliar male voice asked. Mokuba watched in horror as a young man in a white polo shirt with a Domino Valley ID badge wheeled in Seto Kaiba in a wheelchair. Seto still looked distant and unresponsive, as if he were unaware of where he was. His clothes had been replaced with blue-and-white flowered scrubs, and he was wearing thick beige socks. His dark brown hair, still unwashed and greasy, hung in limp strands around his eyes.

The man wheeled Seto into a corner of the room, and drew a chair for Mokuba to sit on. Mokuba rushed over, staring into his brother's pale, haunted face.

 _He hadn't seen Seto in a wheelchair since..._ A flood of painful memories that he'd tried so hard to forget came tumbling back, crashing into Mokuba like a wave. _…..since before Pegasus..._

Numbly, Mokuba grabbed Seto's limp hand, and was vaguely aware of words tumbling out of his mouth: "Seto, I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening to you. I know bad things have happened to us before. I know-" he gulped-"we've done lots of bad things, too. Seto, I'm scared. I know you're doing bad right now. Seto, please, please, _please_ "-he sniffled and rested his head on his brother's shoulder-" _please_ try to get better, okay? Seto, I love you." He buried his face in the scrub shirt they gave to his older brother, sniffling and taking short, unsteady breaths.

* * *

Days passed without any real progress. Mokuba dutifully visited his brother every evening, and every evening they wheeled Seto out in a wheelchair. Seto still had yet to acknowledge that he understood Mokuba was there, much less speak to him. The hours between Domino Valley visiting hours dragged on for Mokuba like an eternity; he felt uncomfortable leaving the house or talking to anyone, and told the cook and the maid and Roland, who had seemed very concerned, that he could take care of the house on his own. It didn't much matter to him—food tasted flavorless anyways, and so he subsisted on boxed mac and cheese and gummy candy, usually late into the night, and slept for as long as he could through the day, to make the hours pass more quickly until he could see Seto again.

On the day after his brother was taken to the hospital, Mokuba received a call from someone named Dr. Cooper, who had a sweet, gentle voice that made Mokuba immediately want to start crying.

"Mr. Kaiba, I'd like to talk to you about your brother Seto's progress here at Domino Valley. Your brother signed a waiver to let me talk to you about his treatment."

"He did?" Mokuba asked, vaguely surprised. The idea of his brother doing _anything_ , much less give permission for a doctor to talk to Mokuba, sounded absurd.

"Yes, sir. Is now a good time to talk about your brother's progress?"

Mokuba felt numb. "Yeah, sure. Is Seto okay?"

"Well, as I'm sure you know, your brother was catatonic when he was admitted. He refused to take food or medication for the first three days of his stay; we've been giving him bupropion and quetiapine injections, and giving him fluids and nutrients through an IV."

Mokuba's mouth felt dry. "O—okay," he said hoarsely, unable to process what was happening.  
"Medication can take up to a few weeks to reach a therapeutic dose, Mr. Kaiba, so we weren't discouraged when your brother didn't start showing immediate improvement. But he seems to have turned a corner today."

"Wh...which way?" Mokuba choked.

He could almost hear Dr. Cooper's smile through the phone. "For the better, Mr. Kaiba. Seto had breakfast with the other inpatients this morning, and took a shower."

The room suddenly looked a thousand times brighter to Mokuba. "Really? Can I talk to him?"

"Seto's in a group right now, Mr. Kaiba. I can give him a message."

Although Dr. Cooper wouldn't be able to see, Mokuba nodded vigorously. "Please. Tell him to call me as soon as he gets the chance. Please?"

"Will do, Mr. Kaiba. Have a good morning."

"Wait, wait! Can you tell me when he's going to be out of his group?"

Dr. Cooper chuckled. "Groups are eighty minutes long. This one ends at ten-twenty."

"Thank you!" Mokuba gasped.

"You're very welcome, Mr. Kaiba. Take care."

* * *

Ten-twenty meant that Mokuba had thirty minutes before he could talk to his brother. He hurried to take a shower, which he hadn't done in days either. Realizing he was suddenly starving, started boiling water for a double-box of mac and cheese. Checking the clock every few seconds, Mokuba impatiently jiggled his foot, gripping his cell phone in one hand.

At 10:22, the phone began to buzz, and in his excitement, Mokuba accidentally dropped the phone and it skittered across the tiled kitchen floor. He hastily scrambled to retrieve it.

"Seto?" he said breathlessly, hardly daring to believe the call could possibly be from him.

"Hey, kid." The voice on the other end of the line was a little bit shaky, but it was unmistakably Seto.

" _Big brother!_ " Mokuba yelped. "Dr. Cooper called me. He said you were doing better."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Little steps, Mokuba," Seto said finally. "But I'm feeling better."

Mokuba grinned ear-to-ear. "Are you okay? How was your...group?"

"It's group therapy, Mokuba. But it's...informative."

Mokuba realized he was shaking, and at a loss for words. "Can I visit you today?" he asked.

"Of course, Mokuba. Phone time is short. But I'll see you tonight."

"I love you, big brother." Mokuba hung up the phone and stared out the window, feeling light enough to fly.

* * *

Seto was waiting for Mokuba when he was escorted into the visiting room. His hair was combed and a little shaggy, but groomed again. He was wearing a cable-knit navy blue sweater, grey sweatpants, and the hospital-given beige socks. He was sitting on one of the shiny black vinyl sofas, smiling gently; Mokuba realized that he hadn't seen his brother smile in ages, even before things had started to get bad.

" _Seto_!" Mokuba bubbled, scrambling up to his brother and wrapping him in a hug. He felt the comforting pressure of his brother's arms on his back, and his heart swelled with relief. He rested his chin against Seto's chest, breathing in the soft cottony smell of his brother's sweater and feeling the gentle rise and fall of his brother's breathing.

When they broke apart after an extended moment, Seto's dark blue eyes looked damp, pink around the edges. "Thank you for coming to see me," he said finally.

"Seto. Of course."

"I know you were here every day, Mokuba. I knew you were here with me." Mokuba was shocked to see a tear roll down Seto's cheek, which Seto promptly wiped away with his sweater sleeve. Mokuba felt his own eyes well up with tears.

"Are you doing better?" he whispered.

Seto nodded, and the boys' eyes met. Mokuba held his brother's gaze for a moment before breaking away, sniffling. "I was so scared, Seto."

"I know, Mokuba."

The two were silent for a moment. Mokuba felt strangely out of his own body, as if his spirit were floating around the room, taking in everything that was happening around him. Mokuba had expected the intensive care unit of a psychiatric hospital to be grim and terrifying, but there was an air of warmth, and love, and forgiveness, and he felt at peace.

"How's the company?" Seto's voice brought Mokuba's conscious back to his body.

Mokuba smiled. "It's okay. They're used to you disappearing," he pointed out wryly.

Seto's face crinkled into a soft smile. "Yes, I suppose that's true."

They were quiet for a moment more. This time, Mokuba watched his brother's face. Likely, Seto hadn't had this much time to reflect on his life since they were children. Mokuba felt a twinge of bittersweet sadness course through him—as much as he wanted to, whatever Seto was facing, as much as he wanted to help, was Seto's private battle. The twenty-year-old in front of him was pale and unshaven and gaunt, but Mokuba hadn't seen the gentle, serene look on his brother's face since he was very, very young.

"Seto?" he asked finally.

"Yes, Mokuba?"

"Can you call me Mokie?"

Seto looked surprised. "Mokie...?"

Mokuba nodded. "You haven't called me that since we were little kids. I want-" he choked. "I want things to be different now."

Seto nodded slowly. "Alright, Mokie."

Minutes of silence stretched on, with Seto and Mokuba watching each other, observing other families, and mindlessly watching the television in the background, lost in their own thoughts. Mokuba's thoughts were racing at a mile a minute, and he couldn't quite comprehend what was happening. The cynical part of his conscious warned him not to hold out hope that things were really going to change—that, try as they might, they couldn't forget their past, and Seto was too twisted, too cold, too far gone to really change. Another part of him pointed out that Seto hadn't worn sweatpants since before they were adopted. Being in the hospital was a drastic step for his brother.

Seto had spent a lot of time being sick, mentally sick, with periods of remission that had seemed, in comparison to his extreme behavior, to look like recovery. But hospitals were for recovery, and for learning strategies for what to do if Seto were to get sick again. And for the moment, the optimistic side won out, and Mokuba felt a sense of hope and relief that his brother could get better.

"Are you coming home soon?" Mokuba asked quietly. His heart hammered. He knew that psychiatric hospitals weren't meant to take in long-term patients, but there was a part of him that was still afraid that his brother would never come home.

To his relief, Seto nodded. "I want to come home when I'm better, Mokie," he said solemly.

"Promise me you'll try?"

Seto smiled. "I promise."

The PA system crackled, announcing the end of visiting hours. Mokuba stood to leave, and Seto stood up with him, and wrapped him in a long hug.

"I love you, Mokie," Mokuba heard Seto whisper, and he felt tears well up in his eyes again as he sniffled into Seto's sweater.

"Get better, Seto, please," he pleaded softly.

"I promise."

"I love you, Seto."

"I love you too, Mokie."


End file.
